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“We’ve so many troubles ahead. Enough to match the ones we left behind at Kenshire. But tonight . . .” He frowned. “I would happily tell you all will be well. But I cannot do so and remain honest. Still, I would have you leave your worries for tomorrow.”

Gillian did drink deeply then. His judgment was both bleak and accurate.

“But let us have tonight to enjoy each other.”

His slight smirk reminded her of the first time he’d looked at her at Kenshire, at once charming, sensual, and kind. Graeme was all of these things. But tonight, he was also more relaxed than usual.

If only she could say the same for herself.

Should I tell him?

“To us.” Graeme lifted his mug. “Then tomorrow, to Lyndwood.”

Gillian froze. Could she have heard him correctly? “My lord?”

He put his mug back down. “We ride to Lyndwood tomorrow.”

“We—”

Did he know about Allie? Who would have told him?

“The men want war, but Clan Scott is committed to peace, despite what transpired this week. I need to know why it happened. To assess the situation before discussing a course of action with the Lord Warden. So”—he raised his mug again—“we ride to Lyndwood tomorrow. To speak with your father.”

“Speak?” Did she dare hope?

“Aye, to speak to him. I thought you would like to accompany me—”

“Of course!” She raised her goblet high. “I would be delighted to accompany you. More than that, I . . .”

Nay. I will tell him tomorrow.

As he said, they deserved a single night without worry, and if they were truly riding to Lyndwood, she would have a chance, however remote, to help Allie.

“To our wedding night,” she said, toasting her husband gladly.

18

“You’re not drunk.”

He’d never been accused of such a thing before. As Graeme opened the door to their bedchamber, he tried to gauge Gillian’s mood.

A change had come over his wife upon learning they’d be leaving for Lyndwood tomorrow. Though he’d never describe her as carefree—she was much too thoughtful for such a designation—she smiled more easily than before. The news had pleased her.

“You say that as if you’re disappointed.”

Gillian sat on the bed, out of his reach.

But not for long.

“When I first joined you, I thought—”

He began to walk toward her. The soft glow of candlelight put him in mind of her gown on May Day, the one she’d also worn to their wedding. She looked radiant, ethereal, as if she was not from this world.

“I am very careful,” he said. “Unlike my brother.”

She smiled. “I do see what you mean. But I like him.”

“As do I.” He returned her smile, taking another step forward. “Why did you think I was in my cups, my fair English queen?”